A Devil in a Sunday Dress
by C. C. Snow
Summary: Amelia spoke to Owen like he wasn't a surgeon like her – always having to tell the family of an end. She spoke to him as if he wasn't the survivor who had to tell mothers that their soldier sons took the last breath in the field. He knew the face like an old betraying friend, just as she knew it like a devil in a Sunday dress.


_A/N. (I don't own the characters and certain parts of the plot. Courtesy goes to the creative team behind Grey's Anatomy.) This was a well-executed scene, I must say. It was one of the most heartbreaking scenes I've seen on television. I thought I must put it in words and get into Amelia's head while Owen stood before her, and ta-da! Here you go, guys. RIP McDreamy._

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**A Devil in a Sunday Dress**

"Can we have the room, please?" Owen said as he leaned by the door frame. Callie quirked her head inviting Edwards out into the operating suite, leaving Owen with Amelia alone in the scrub area.

"Did you need something?" Inquired the young neurosurgeon – who was particularly cheeky at the moment.

For a fraction of a second, he doubted. Not knowing where to start, he tried to stall. "I think we need to have this conversation in my office."

She grunted soft to herself. "I don't have time for-…" She was cut short when Owen moved deep into the room and faced her.

There it was: that expression that Amelia knew so well. When they said that body language could speak louder than words, they weren't lying. There was an unwanted chill between them while Owen stood stiff saying nothing. The way his brows curved above his teal eyes gave it all away, and when he didn't dare to speak a syllable, Amelia thought it best to break muteness. Annoyed, she tugged her face mask sharply away from her neck. "Who died?"

It sounded almost rhetorical – more like _'Stop playing games and go spit it out,'_ kind of tone. The words were jumbled in Owen's head, and he could only utter her bare name.

"I know the face. I've been here before," Amelia said coldly. Impatience starting to get to her. "Everyone thinks they are the first person in the world to ever look at a human being like that," she expounded – like Owen didn't know that her job description included dealing with lost causes on a daily basis, and that every word needed to be spelled out for him at the time. "But it's always the same face, Owen… the exact same eyes and the exact same hurt look – all the time."

She spoke to him like he wasn't a surgeon like her – always having to tell the family of an end. She spoke to him as if he wasn't the survivor who had to tell mothers that their soldier sons took the last breath in the field. He knew the face like an old betraying friend, just as she knew it like a devil in a Sunday dress.

"Who… is… dead?" Amelia's tone rose louder and harsher, more eager to force the words out of his head, yet at the back of her head, there was an impending answer – one she didn't want to recognize. Amelia didn't have a lot of people in her life. God forbid, she could count them with her digits. There could possibly be only one reason Owen would stand before her with that particular look on his face. There was only one person in her life that would require a stabbing confrontation like this. She knew this perfectly, yet, to be fair to herself, she chose not to face the truth unless she hears it from Owen's mouth.

"Derek," Owen spoke and he saw the shift in Amelia's eyes. There wasn't a sound between them – not even the slight hush of her breathing. Amelia's gaze met his like a plane crashing horribly into the grounds. "It's Derek. I'm so sorry."

Disappointment fell on her like a ton of bricks. There was a part of her that wanted to slap Owen across the face for saying that one name that she didn't want to hear (not in this conversation, at least). A deafening sound rang in Amelia's ears, drowning her head into muteness and chaos, and if she wouldn't play it smart, she would lose herself in a blink.

"He saw an accident on the road and he wanted to help-,"

"I don't need the details," she cut him off. "Dead is dead."

Owen heard her voice breaking a bit as she spoke, and saw her fists clenching so hard it would tremble. Gazing into her stunned eyes, he gently reached for her nervous hands for comfort. "I am so, so sorry. I wish there was something-,"

"Thank you for telling me," she said quick as she pulled away from his caressing touch.

"Amelia, if there's anything-,"

"I'm good. You don't have to bore another drill." She was starting to feel the need to have the next hour entirely for herself to absorb the news. There wasn't a single tear waiting to run out of her eyes. Her lips would seal tight as soon as she finished her sentence.

Amelia turned to face the sink and let her hands under the water – hoping that the chill against her skin would help with the loud thumping of her heart. Her mind returned to the moment she last heard her brother's voice. It was a phone call, and she was in a surgery with Miranda.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," Amelia thought to herself as she remembered the poor reception cutting their phone call off mid-sentence.

_**fin.**_

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_A/N. Leave reviews and I'll love you forever. Thank you for reading!_


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